Cirrus@Austlit

I first encountered Max Frankl during a Masterclass at the University of Sydney. He was one of three visiting writers, the only one I hadn't heard of, and to be honest, I almost didn't attend his session. He was listed on the programme as a German literary critic and philologist, a scary prospect for any member of the likely audience, still worse for those of us who needed to google 'philologist'. Also, Max was scheduled for late in the day, a 7pm start, on a Tuesday, and I knew I'd have a train to catch - in those days, I always had a train to catch. But as it happened, for the middle session I was seated  next to Maxine Sayastri, an Indonesian student I recognised from the previous semester's previous poetry workshop. Maxine and I hadn't spoken much - she was in the English Literature stream, I was in Creative Writing - but I'd liked her poems; they were pithy, in the best sense of the word, and therefore departed favourably from much else that was presented, my own work included. (Introduction)